Meet Mr and Mrs Con
by xxfatal
Summary: Yuffentine. Vincent and Yuffie go undercover for the WRO as a married couple in order to stop the reemergence of mako use. But who's really after whom?
1. Introducing the Marriage

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _FFVII._

**_Meet Mr. and Mrs. Con_**

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><p><strong>I. Introducing the Marriage<strong>

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><p>"Sure," said Yuffie, though her enthusiasm lacked its usual peppy punch, "I'll marry him."<p>

Vincent scowled. Had he known this matter was to be this impossibly ridiculous, he would have ignored the summons to Reeve's office.

"That's not quite what I'm asking you to agree to," replied Reeve.

"But that's the idea, isn't it? I have to pretend I'm married to this, uh," Yuffie fumbled for the appropriate noun—because there were so many things Valentine was _not_, the most important of which was husband material—and settled on, "Vinnie here."

"Your cover is married to his cover," corrected Reeve. "This is a sensitive recon operation, Yuffie. You must understand that, as of next week, you will be living this cover's life. Very few people are aware of your deep undercover work, and it will remain that way."

"Cloud? Tifa?" began Yuffie curiously.

"They do not know."

"No, I mean—why didn't you choose them for this, instead? Or even Cid—or hell, Barret would make a more believable husband than Mr. Chatty-Vamp over here! All you would need to do is fix up his gun arm with a prosthetic or, I don't know, a cute, little water gun would work."

Vincent tried to maintain faith that Reeve knew what he was doing, but he was finding the plan just as flawed as she was. And he hadn't even uttered a word of protest yet.

Reeve sighed, turning in his chair to stare out the window. "I could not ask this of Cloud or Tifa, for obvious reasons." Yuffie arched an eyebrow expectantly. "They have private responsibilities. They are not active WRO operatives like you or Vincent. As for the others," he shook his head, "they lack your expertise in intelligence-gathering and reconnaissance. No, I'm afraid this job falls on the two of you."

Yuffie eyeballed Vincent dubiously, looking all surly and unsociable hunched up in his cloak. "Why Vincent?" Sure, he had the _looks_ to be a hot, sexy, powerhouse of a—wait, what was her question again?

"Vincent is an ex-Turk. He has experience in these types of matters."

"You're sure about this, Reeve?" asked Yuffie.

"You're the best we have. We've been preparing Operation Herring for some time now. We have operatives trained to take over your responsibilities at the WRO temporarily, as well as arranged for several operatives to be secreted into the company you will be involved in."

Yuffie knew Reeve was speaking sense, but she just couldn't wrap her head around it. It was an awful lot to ask of someone who, to her knowledge, possessed the social quotient of a paper clip. Not that she minded too much before, since he was an extremely attractive paper clip.

"Everything you need is this file," said Reeve, holding out two identical packets.

Yuffie knew taking it meant accepting it, all of it: the responsibilities, uncertainties, and potential for failure. But Yuffie Kisaragi would be loath to fail something as simple as a recon assignment. She never had before. Vincent took his copy, leaving in Reeve's hand only hers. Well, if he was going for it, so was she! Yuffie flipped through the file, dark eyes darting through key pieces of information. "I call dibs on Marc!" she declared.

Reeve looked like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, or hers, for that matter. "You cannot be Marc Conlin unless you have male gonads, Yuffie."

"But he's clearly the de facto head of Koma Industries," protested Yuffie sourly. Reeve couldn't possibly be asking her to marry Vincent _and_ play second fiddle, could he?

"Male. Gonads."

Yuffie's eyes diverted from the file and pinned themselves to Vincent's pack. Vincent shot her something of an indignant look and draped his cloak over himself. Reeve coughed to attract Yuffie's attention. Her eyes returned reluctantly to Reeve; Vincent appeared visibly relieved. "Fine. I guess I'll be Yuki, then."

"A fine choice. You may take those files with you for review. There is a time and location printed on page six. I expect you both to be ready to depart by that time. You may go."

Vincent did not linger, exiting the room in a fluid silence. Yuffie, however, flipped through several more pages and approached the desk. When she looked up, her eyes revealed a thread of apprehension. "Reeve, you're absolutely certain about this? We're talking about me and Vincent here. I just don't know if this will fool anyone."

"Yuffie, you've made it through worse. And you've fooled plenty."

Yeah, but could she fool herself? Yuffie sighed, but straightened. "I guess I there's just one last thing. Who's our handler?"

"All in the file."

But it really hadn't been. Otherwise, she never would have said yes.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Yuffie retired to her bedroom, where the innocuous file sat in the middle of her chocobo bedspread. Sipping at her chocolate milk, she slowly crawled over her sheets. Her Midgarian bed was soft and plush, different from the futon she slept on in Wutai. At ease in her WRO-issued flat, Yuffie began to assimilate the information.<p>

Her cover's name was Yuki Conlin, neé Asagi, wife to Marc Conlin. She was 25. Yuffie puckered her lips. How did Reeve expect her to pull off looking that old? That was a four-year difference! Then again, how was Vincent going to pull off being hip was the real question. Reading on, Yuffie discovered that Yuki wore glasses—anyone who wore glasses was blind, in Yuffie's opinion—and dressed professionally for work. Yuffie glanced down at the tank and shorts combo she had been in since work this morning. She popped the highlighter cap and made a mark next to this point. Yuki used to be the head of ENrich, an airship fuel supplier company, before she merged it with Koma Industries. Koma Industries was the sister branch of Sun Circle Marketing, a company that had been pivotal in the proliferation of commercial mako use. Her husband, Marc, used to be a top executive working for the budding Koma. The addition of ENrich to Koma allowed him to shoot up the ranks into the top job with his wife, two years prior. Yuki knew Wutainese. Yuffie had to reread that portion. Wutainese, huh? That was mighty convenient of Reeve to set up. Yuki's hobbies included going to the gym, water-skiing, and reading—for pleasure? Yuffie gawked at the last one. Who could possibly enjoy _reading_? That was something _Vincent_ would do! With an almighty groan, she circled the foul term. Did she even have books in this place? She surveyed the flat with a smug sense of satisfaction. Not a single tome to be found. Good for her.

It was only after she finished reading over the provided bio that Yuffie stopped to wonder about how to behave around Vincent during the mission. Was she allowed to be her usual motor-mouth self? Or was he expecting her to be suddenly thirty years wiser? Because the second one was not going to happen. There simply wasn't a lot about how Yuki and Marc got along. They had been married three years, took their honeymoon on Cactus Island. Scanning Marc Conlin's bio, Yuffie found Marc to be a clearheaded and methodical individual, with the same athletic interests as his wife. Marc possessed a spare, but charming, sense of humor. At this point, she nearly spilled her chocolate milk and had to snort it back it into her nose before it dripped onto her precious chocobos. Grinning, she highlighted it in pink. Swimming through the rest of bios yielded few private details, except for one. In explicit writing, it said both spouses were faithful to each other. She wondered what that had to do with anything.

A yawn escaped Yuffie's throat, and she rubbed her eyes to keep them from watering. Yuffie set the file into a locked safe, rinsed out her cup, and got ready for bed. As she switched off the light, she decided to go into mission details tomorrow.

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><p>Yuffie didn't get up until noon. At first, she panicked, her hand accidentally knocking the alarm clock to the floor where it continued blaring like a dying animal. Late for work again! Yuffie sat up, forcibly rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Wait—wait a second. Yuffie squinted down at the clock. It was Saturday. Her day off. She was tempted to roll right back into the blankets and sleep for another hour for three, but padded out to the bathroom instead to relieve herself. Her hair was a mess. Yuffie tried to pat it down before going back out again, but it insisted on sticking up like the business end of a chocobo's butt. So, with a great deal of internal whining, she turned on the shower and prepared to wake up for real.<p>

As she sat down for breakfast, Yuffie propped the file open on her lap. In the mission details, she learned more about the urgency of her mission. Apparently, a series of strange company merges tied back to Lexing Corp, a mako fuel refiner that took a huge blow after the Meteor incident. It had been more resistant to using oil than other companies. WRO analysts suspected that it targeted companies that were either vital to or on the brink of signing long-term oil contracts. WRO required confirmation of collusion and underhanded takeovers before it could take action, and that was where the Conlins came in. The Conlins were, at least in name, the head of Koma Industries, and were going to be interested in signing an oil contract. But Koma was only a diversion before Lexing targeted Sun Circle Marketing. Lexing had a pattern of coming into contact with a company, and within months, bringing it under their control. If they merged with Sun Circle Marketing before oil companies could, then it was over for oil. Mako would make a comeback, despite everything.

Yuffie flipped over the last page, hoping to find more, but, to her consternation, there wasn't much left to go. What about the mark? She needed more information. Where and how to get close to him, his habits, the company floor plan—she needed all of that. But then she remembered all of that usually came with the handler. She had to be "on the ground" first. Yuffie returned to the last bit of the file, cursing Reeve for failing to include the name of the handler; only an estimated date was provided.

The last line read: "Mission term: Undetermined. Months estimated." Yuffie sat back, milky spoon abandoned on the table. Of course, she knew this was going to be long-term, but months? Months away from here? Stuck with Vincent Valentine, her fake _husband_?

Yuffie would be lying if she said that some really deep, very girly part of her wasn't secretly thrilled at the idea of spending more time with the monotone-wielding gunslinger. She hadn't been grouped on a mission with him in almost a year, which was why she compensated by popping in to bug him every once in a while. Or stalk him. But the problem was, she had a tendency to get flustered around him. Her, the Great Ninja Yuffie: flustered! Didn't anyone realize how hard it was to concentrate with him breathing and stuff around her? Why hadn't Reeve picked up on the hint that Vincent plus her was A Bad Idea? This was why Yuffie thought subtlety was a waste, because it was. The mission wasn't even cut-and-dry. She had to flirt or—Heaven forbid—talk dirty to him. The idea sent shivers up her spine. She _had_ to focus on the assignment. But the assignment was asking her to pour oil on the fire. And that was a really hot fire.

Yuffie groaned, suddenly dreading the next time she would see him. It was at times like these that she wished she could call up Tifa, but since she wasn't in the know, Yuffie was stuck figuring all this out for herself. She had one week. One week to pull it together. Okay. Professional and flirty. She could do it. She'd just try to pretend Vincent was hideous or something. Yep, easy as pie.

Yuffie wondered how she'd make it out alive.

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><p>Yuffie ended up going to Seventh Heaven despite herself. She wasn't going to tell Tifa a thing, but she still wanted to see her. But the moment she walked in, she knew she shouldn't have.<p>

"Yuffie, did you pick the lock again?" A frown. "I keep telling Cloud we need better security in here."

Yuffie violently quashed the impulse to tell her every stinking thing about her imminent matrimony with Vincent.

"You grew out your hair," remarked Tifa as Yuffie slumped against the bar counter. "What's the occasion?"

Yuffie plucked at the strands that barely grew past her shoulders; they were longer than she would have liked by a long shot. "I got this memo at work a few months back."

Tifa quirked an eyebrow. Yuffie couldn't help but notice how much it resembled the same quirk that Cloud made. "Is this related?"

"It told me to cut my hair!"

"What?"

"'About time for a haircut?' That's all that was on it! Obnoxious, right? It was typed, too, so it was untraceable. I haven't taken a scissor to it since."

"Out of spite?" chuckled Tifa, lips curved into a smile that reaches her eyes. "That's very like you."

Yuffie harrumphed, crossing her arms over her admittedly tiny chest. "I'm not listening to a piece of paper about what I do with my hair! It's mine and I'll do what I want with it!"

"Okay," replied Tifa with a laugh in her voice.

"Where are the kids?" Yuffie asked with the tact of a sledgehammer.

"At school." Tifa glanced at her curiously. "Why?"

So much for a last visit. Yuffie pinned her gaze at the plush toy she got Marlene for her last birthday. "Oh, no reason! I was just around and I thought I'd finish teaching them that stuff about rope escapes. Comes in handy, you know."

Tifa smiled at her sympathetically, having seen through her. Yuffie's flagrant simper disappeared. "They'll be back soon."

"How's Chocobo-Head?"

"Yuffie, you know he hates that name." Tifa laughed all the same. "He's doing fine. He's happy. We're happy." Yuffie spied the brilliance in Tifa's eyes knew that she, of all people, deserved it most.

"I see he still uses that 'Closed for Business' sign I got him." Yuffie felt a swell of pride as she jabbed her thumb at the plaque hanging on the back of the door. "Glad he could take a hint." Cloud used to be such a nitwit.

"Thanks, Yuffie." For a second, Yuffie stared at her.

"What?" For Cloud being a nitwit?

"I never thank you for that sign," she explained, gesturing to it.

_Oh._ "No big deal. I nicked it from some musty, old bookstore." She actually went through a lot of trouble getting that particular sign. If only she hadn't stubbed her toe and set off the alarms, it would have been the perfect crime.

Tifa's expression dampened, just minutely, into a scowl. "Yuffie."

Yuffie beamed at her, but did not address the felony. "Hey, now that I'm old enough, won't you make me a raspberry daiquiri?" She loved getting free alcohol. Tifa used to be so strict with her when she was underage, and now she could guzzle gallons without so much as a "Yuffie, slow down! Yuffie! You're not getting another one!"

Tifa shook her head. "Seems like it was just yesterday you weren't even legal."

"Almost yesterday," contributed Yuffie sagely.

"Coming right up," said Tifa the barmaid.

Yuffie just finished the last of her second drink when Denzel and Marlene unlocked the bar door, backpacks dangling over their shoulders by a single strap. Both of them brightened up upon seeing their favorite ninja. "Yuffie! Hi!" Marlene ran over, slamming her with a bear hug. Denzel walked up, giving her his reserved-for-special-people smile. "When did you get here?"

"An hour ago. Took you long enough to get here!"

"Did you bring presents?" whispered Marlene.

Yuffie glanced at Tifa furtively. Yuffie had a habit of spoiling the kids with gifts—usually stolen goods. "Not this time, sorry," piped Yuffie at Tifa's hawkish look, "but maybe next time."

"Just here for a visit, then? Where's Vincent?" asked Marlene.

Normally, she would have jumped up out of her stool and listed Elusive Vincent Vampire Coordinates, but with the impending doom of being basically glued to him for the next few months, she just couldn't bring herself to. Soon enough, the Coordinates would be: stuck with Yuffie indefinitely.

"Marlene, you know Yuffie can't keep track of him all the time," said Tifa, her eyes trained on the ninja's resigned expression.

"Of course, because he's Elusive!" cried Marlene, striking the same ridiculous pose Yuffie made during her own declarations.

"I thought you were Head of Intelligence," said Denzel. He had taken up a healthy measure of reverence upon exposure to her Very Important Title. He thought she knew everything there was to know about the unknown. Which was why, to Tifa's everlasting mortification, he had once asked her what "riding Tifa all night long" meant: Cid's words when Denzel asked why Tifa looked so tired one day. Denzel was of the belief that people like Cloud could only ride bikes, chocobos, and occasionally the coaster at Gold Saucer. Yuffie had cackled madly, eyes glinting with blackmail gold, and told him that it meant Cloud and Tifa were involved in special training, training that only adults past a certain age could do.

"Well, I was going to keep it a secret this time, but he's sleeping in the bat cave right now so he can't make it," twittered Yuffie. Although she didn't know for sure this time, there was a still a large chance he was, in fact, doing the human equivalent of that.

"Aww, that's too bad," grumbled Marlene.

"Everyone needs sleep, Marlene."

"But not everyone sleeps in a bat cave, Tifa!"

Tifa sighed. Oh, the lies these kids had been fed.

"Anyway, I should get going," announced Yuffie, swinging her legs off the stool. "Have lots to do!" She crushed the munchkins against her in a hug and released them off to do homework at Tifa's stern reminder. Yuffie watched them disappear up the stairs.

"Will you be alright?" asked Tifa quietly.

Yuffie blinked. Did Tifa know? Was it possible that Reeve had informed them, after all? If he had, Yuffie was planting her butt on that chair and spewing her mushy guts out about what torture it had been for her the last few days. After scrutinizing the expression on her face, Yuffie realized it was just Tifa's intuition talking. Sometimes, that woman had the perception radar of a telepath. "Me? The Great Ninja Yuffie? Of course!" Tifa smiled as if she didn't believe her, giving Yuffie's hand a small squeeze. Yuffie threw her arms around her, but pulled away in the blink of an eye, not giving Tifa enough time to hug her back. Tifa had hugs that made you never want to let go. "Bye! I'll try to bring the kids something nice next time."

"Take care of yourself," Tifa managed to say before Yuffie had disappeared through the door.

_To be continued._

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><p><strong>AN:** Because, of all the people that could go undercover, Yuffie made the most sense. She always seemed like someone who took her job very seriously, so I took liberties in writing an older, more mature Yuffie. I know this may not be the most original idea on the face of the planet, but it took a hold of me while I was on vacation in Hawaii and simply would not let _go_. I apologize for the chunks of dry exposition in this introductory chapter. I thought it would be too confusing to flesh out their covers along the way. Not to worry, I haven't played all my cards. They are still several surprises in store.

Chapters 1-3 have been revised as of 08/03/11 in an attempt to provide a smoother story and a more consistent narrator (i.e. Yuffie). Some things have been added, some things have been cut, but nothing major has been messed with. I hope the pieces have improved, even if only a little bit. Comments are welcome and critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading.


	2. Introducing the Lipstick

**II. Introducing the Lipstick**

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><p>The night of the rendezvous, Yuffie found herself standing alone on a deserted WRO helicopter pad, feeling as foreign as she looked. She had to stuff her hands into her pants—pants!—to keep herself from scratching at her face, where a nerdy pair of glasses sat on her stub nose. In addition to her ridiculous get-up, her hair was tied back and her beloved feet were incased in horrifically sensible work heels. She looked like a librarian. Where was the helicopter? Where was Vincent? Not that she was really that eager, said the anticipatory clench of her stomach. She just expected him to be punctual, that's all. She glanced at the slip in her pocket again. Yep, this was the place. And it was already two minutes past.<p>

Suddenly, she heard a faint whirring in the distance. She squinted into the sky, and watched with a mixture of queasiness and relief as her ride approached. She grazed her hand against the motion sickness medication in her pocket, knowing full well it would do little for the ride. She scanned the premises again. A figure was walking towards her. Not Vincent. All that mental preparation for nothing? She couldn't help but feel a little put-off that they had decided to replace him last-minute and not inform her. Did this guy even have the credentials to pull off an undercover operation? Had Vincent privately declined to go on this mission with her? Her lips faltered into a frown. Well, good riddance; she didn't want him, anyway! His sexy voice and impossibly hot eyes be damned! "Hi, are you Marc?" piped Yuffie, struggling to make out the man's features in the dark.

"Yuffie."

Yuffie nearly jolted out of her pants. Maybe Vincent's sexy voice didn't have to be damned. He sounded just like—

"VINCENT?" Yuffie almost took a step back as he came into focus behind her irritatingly glossy glasses. "HOLY SHIT!"

He sighed. "Yes, Yuffie. Try not to sound so stupefied next time. We do have appearances to keep up."

She openly ogled him. She tried to tell herself she'd been prepared—albeit shakily at best—to keep her cool around Vincent if, when, he showed up, but this was not what she bargained for. "You look so—not you. Where's your cloak?"

"Marc Conlin does not, to my knowledge, wear cloaks," said Vincent.

Yuffie could scarcely believe what she was seeing. His eyes, his face, and his voice were all there—but he didn't give off the same Vincent-y vibe. He almost looked like a Turk, the way he wore that fancy-looking suit. "Yeah, but I never imagined you would—I don't know—abandon it! It's like your third leg!" Maybe she had underestimated his ability to blend in and be one with the general populace.

"My cloak is not—"

"What the hell happened to your hair?" she yelped without letting him get a word in edgewise. Her hand shot into the air and grabbed at the locks framing his face. Granted, it wasn't _all_ gone—there was still a shaggy quality to it, the way it draped over his eyes—but it was so incredibly short! His hand reached up to extract her probing fingers from his freshly-cut hair. "YOU HAVE AN ARM THERE?" She snatched up the appendage in question, positively gawking.

"Of course, I have an arm there."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" she blustered, voice octaves higher from bewilderment. "You never went anywhere without that claw! Oh, wait! Is this fake? Like a prosthetic?" She opened his palm to face up and rubbed her thumb along the skin of his thumb.

He jerked his hand back. "Yuffie, it's real."

"I've never seen you in real shoes before! You look so normal!"

"That's the point."

"Wow." Yuffie's mind was blown.

"Yuffie, stand back. The helicopter is landing."

"I mean, WOW. Seriously, it's like you've been replaced by some kind of alien, Vince. "Actually, this assignment wouldn't be so hard now that he looked so unlike himself. She could simply pretend he wasn't Vincent, just some hot guy in a suit who happened to look just like him. She was debating the merits of this when her musing was interrupted by a grab at her blazer.

"Yuffie, stand _back_." Yuffie felt herself being jerked out of the way as the helicopter landed, sending the loose ends of her hair all askew and in her face. The pilot waved them in from the other side of the window. Yuffie watched Vincent climb abroad, speechless with shock. His butt looked _amazing_ in those pants—

"Yuffie, get in," said Vincent impatiently.

"Right, right," she replied, pulling off her heels to climb into the vehicle. She set them on the floor and tried to stop herself from gaping at him. "You know, for a second I thought you weren't going to show. I thought you'd be too bothered to deal with all this with me, but you really pulled out all the stops for this thing! I'm impressed!"

The pilot suddenly turned around and handed them both a black leather briefcase. Yuffie's eyes darted down to it."Yours," said the pilot before lifting off. Yuffie felt her stomach lurch. She quickly popped a pill into her mouth. Her tolerance had gone up through the years. It usually took her an hour to start spilling her guts out. Hopefully two, this time, if the medicine worked.

Inside the briefcase, Yuffie found a passport, I.D., Koma Industries clearance card, and various other accessories she assumed were for her cover as Yuki Conlin. "Oh, what's this?" She picked up what appeared to be a stick of lipstick. "Some kind of secret laser or something?" She remembered getting a lock pick disguised as pen on her previous op. Yuffie popped the item open and her face fell with dismay. It was _actually_ lipstick, in an odd rosy peach color. Vincent watched her with something that almost resembled amusement. "I guess this is just Yuki's make-up of choice," said Yuffie sullenly.

Yuffie insisted on pawing through—studying, she called it—Vincent's briefcase as well. Vincent could hardly keep the thing to himself in such a small space with nowhere to hide it from her. She found Vincent's supplies to be relatively similar to hers, except for the guns that were strapped inside. She hardly could have expected him to go unarmed. She hid a few of her favorite knives on her person, too. But Vincent got guns, and she got lipstick? Where was the justice?

"You know where we're going?" she asked the pilot, after several moments of staring out the helicopter into the shapeless dark, her stomach beginning to roll.

"Can't say 'til we get there. Be ready for the time change, though," replied the pilot with a shrug. "It's going to be a long ride, so you might as well make yourself comfortable."

Yuffie made an incoherent gurgling noise as she leaned back against the seat, her panicked eyes sweeping over to Vincent. "Reeve told me this wasn't going to take longer than an hour and a half!"

Vincent had clearly heard differently. He pulled the business book from his briefcase and began to read it. "There's a bucket behind you," said Vincent helpfully.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she squawked, clutching the bucket to her blazer.

"It would have been pointless to worry you over something you can't control."

Yuffie opened her mouth to throw another angry demand his way, but only ended up throwing her beef-and-pepper dinner up into the bucket.

* * *

><p>Yuffie awoke in a groggy haze, her throat raw from vomiting all night and her joints aching from ill-timed slumber. Her glasses were askew on her face, and she pulled them off completely out of annoyance. It's not like there was anyone to see her, besides Vincent and the pilot. Vincent was staring out the window, into the warm, orange glow of sunset outside as the helicopter sailed over the sea. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "How much longer?" she croaked.<p>

"Almost there," said the pilot, giving her a sympathetic smile. "We'll be landing in twenty minutes."

Yuffie couldn't help the relief that flooded her voice. "Great." She popped another pill into her mouth, if only for the placebo effect and sat back, trying not to think about motion or puking or—

The sound of retching could be heard for the last twenty minutes of the ride.

Yuffie practically crawled out of the helicopter, heaving grateful gulps of air into her lungs. Vincent stood silently beside her as she recovered herself enough to walk out of the airstrip. Sitting out in front of them was a slim, black car. The driver side door opened, and Yuffie immediately straightened, trying not to look like a sick dog. A middle-aged man in a pressed suit and white gloves stood forward, nodding at them politely. "Mr. and Mrs. Conlin, glad to see you made it back without incident. How was your trip to Mideel?"

Yuffie's eyes slid to Vincent, entreating him to take the initiative. She was not up to playing her part just yet. She could still feel the ghosts of careening haunting her mushy insides. "It was lovely," said Vincent. "Thank you." Yuffie carefully arranged her face to conceal her utter astonishment. Vincent saying "lovely"? Who _was_ this person?

The chauffeur smiled and opened the back door for them. "After you, Mrs. Conlin."

Yuffie coughed into her hand and picked up her briefcase. "Thank you." She slid into the car and realized belatedly she was sitting in a limousine. Vincent slid in next to her, and she scooted over to give him some room. He effortlessly closed the distance. She stared at him, at the way their legs were touching.

"Do you get carsick?" he murmured into her ear. She stiffened from the unexpected proximity.

"Depends on how smooth the ride is," she managed in equally low tones.

The driver glanced back at them, smiling. "Any detours before we go, sir, madam?"

"No, no, we're fine," said Yuffie perhaps a little too hastily.

"Yes, madam." He stuck the key into the ignition and it purred to life. A black window rolled up and closed him off from their line of sight.

The car lurched forward and Yuffie's stomach kindly reminded her they were in a moving vehicle. She stuffed a hand against her mouth. "Stop sitting so close to me! I'm going to puke all over you!" hissed Yuffie, scooting all the way to the other side of the enormously large car, where she thankfully found a bucket for the deed. She emptied out the ice and champagne into the other bucket and sat the cold tin between her legs. She leaned over the bucket, trying to affect slow, deep breaths. Stupid methods never worked but she had to give it a shot.

Vincent stood up and crossed over to her side, sitting right next to her. "Appearances, _Yuki._"

Oh, right. She stared at the bucket. Did Yuki get carsick? Yuffie waited expectantly for the vomit to rise, but it never came. She cautiously stared at the car. It rode on smoothly. Yuffie held herself stiffly, assaying the situation. It took her several minutes to ascertain that it was, indeed, a barf-free zone. She leaned back against the leather seat, sighing happily. She was going to tip their driver very generously. She cracked open an eye. "So," she tried the name on her tongue, "Marc." Vincent did not reply, or even indicate that he had heard. Yuffie straightened up; that was going to be a problem. "_Marc_?" He popped open a bottle of champagne and poured out two glasses. He handed one to her. "What are you doing?"

"We like champagne, apparently," he said quietly. "Otherwise, it wouldn't be here. Take a few sips so it looks like we've had some." Yuffie drained the glass. It was divine. The quality of it was unlike anything she'd ever had. Vincent took one sip out of his and did not touch it for the remainder of the drive. But then, Vincent never actually liked drinking anything other than red wine. Figured, because he was secretly a vampire.

Finally, the car stopped, and moments later, the door opened. The chauffeur beckoned them out. "We're here. I hope you enjoyed the ride."

Yuffie decorously took the man's proffered hand, although she could have easily somersaulted out of the car. "The ride was excellent. Thank you." She stepped out of the car and slid him a generous tip. He bowed.

Vincent stepped out after her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Yuffie's features tightened from shock. "Thank you for the ride," he told the man.

The chauffeur's eyes twinkled, jumping from face to face. Yuffie forced her facial muscles to relax. "It was my pleasure."

Vincent maneuvered them up the path. His hand did not leave her until the elevator door closed. Yuffie released something between a sigh and a wheeze. She hadn't been expecting him to touch her like that. But then again, he hardly could have treated her like a foot fungus in public. Yuffie took a deep breath. Wives did not freak out every time their husbands touched them. People with crushes did. But she wasn't Yuffie right now; she was Yuki.

_To be continued._

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><p><strong>AN:** Chapters 1-3 have been revised as of 08/03/11 in an attempt to provide a smoother story and a more consistent narrator (i.e. Yuffie). Some things have been added, some things have been cut, but nothing major has been messed with. I hope the pieces have improved, even if only a little bit. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading.


	3. Introducing Wedding Rings

**III. Introducing Wedding Rings**

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><p>The elevator door opened, and her hand shot out and seized his. Vincent's head turned sharply to stare at their entwined hands. Yuffie pulled him out of the elevator and headed for the door. Once inside, with the door closed, she dropped his hand like a hot potato. That took guts. She casually wiped the sweat that had broken out on her palms against her clothes. She was beginning to wonder if Reeve had sent the wrong people after all. Sure, they both had the training for espionage, but did they—<em>she<em>—have the social aptitude for this married play-acting thing? She had gone undercover before, but she never had to coordinate her identity with someone else. And acting faux-affectionate around Vincent, of all people? Flirting with him was like flirting with a piece of stone. Maybe if it had been Tifa, it would have been easier. She called her "Boobs," all the time, anyway. She missed Tifa. Yuffie wanted to call her up and tell her that she'd just held Vincent Valentine's hand for more than a second without getting her foot blown off.

When she looked up, Vincent was no longer at her side. He was across the room—or _rooms_. Yuffie kicked off her heels and gaped. The floor was plated in marble tiling, with several large and beautifully crafted rugs strategically placed. The windows went from ceiling to floor, with silk curtains pushed back to reveal the Costa del Sol coastline beneath them. She raced across the living room, past the kitchen, and threw herself onto the frosted glass balcony. A pleasant breeze stirred her hair. Looking directly down, she noticed that something in the penthouse led out to the enormous pool and hot tub, which was fenced in from an isolated stretch of beach. Yuffie leaned against the glass breathlessly. This was beyond her expectations. She walked back inside, gesturing behind her. "Have you seen it yet? This place is insane!"

Vincent looked up from a note he was reading. Yuffie took it from him. It read: "Routine building: 5 days. File in safe." Yuffie nodded absently. Routine building was meant for long-term missions. It took time to ease into a cover's skin; normality around the community was essential for gleaning information. She idly wondered what kind of routine she'd make up for the Conlins.

"You'll need this." Vincent dropped something small and cool to the touch into her hand.

Yuffie gulped down the sudden and sticky lump in her throat. A wedding ring. A simple platinum gold band. She swiveled between her thumb and forefinger before experimentally sticking it on her left hand. It fit perfectly. Catching sight of Vincent's gaze, she hurriedly pulled it off. "Only in public," she managed to say.

"Agreed."

"Safe's in the bedroom," said Yuffie.

"Are you certain?"

"It always is." Yuffie raced into the bedroom, pausing only momentarily to take in the king-sized bed and vaulted ceiling. "I'm going to check the closet!" She scampered to the door in the far corner and slid it open to reveal an aisle. The closet was bigger than her bathroom in Midgar. She glanced over her shoulder, but Vincent was busying himself opening various drawers. She flipped on the light. Suits lined both sides. Vincent's on the left, and hers on the right. Further in revealed other clothes: swim suits, summer clothes, and various articles of things Yuffie would never voluntarily wear. She pushed back the blouses and khakis, skimming her hand along the wall for cracks. She kept on working her way down, until she reached the space behind her undergarments: racy, lacy things and boring, solid-color panties. There it was. Typical placement. She pushed the small drawer out of the way and pried the panel loose. A black safe sat nestled in the wall. One key hung on a hook beside it. She took it and pocketed it for Vincent. Surely, Reeve didn't think she, the Great Ninja Yuffie, required a key to open a safe? In less than a minute, she had cracked it and had taken the file. She secured the false panel back on and wandered out of the closet in time to see Vincent slam one of the bedside drawers closed particularly violently. "I found it!" she announced, pleased with herself.

Vincent didn't _do_ jumps, but the expression on his face was alarm, no question. The tips of his ears were pink. Was he embarrassed? Yuffie's face lit up like a set of fireworks. No wonder she could never tell! Only his ears flushed, and she had never gotten a good look at them through all that hair! "What's in there?" she blurted eagerly, pouncing on the bed.

"Nothing of consequence," he said steadily, betraying nothing. Except she'd already seen his ears.

"PORN!" she bellowed, shoving him with one hand and deftly sliding the drawer open with the other. But it wasn't porn. It was worse. She shut the drawer quickly. "Oh. Um. I guess that's just for show, in case other people come snooping around." Who the hell put condoms in their safe house! Yuffie felt her face grow hot.

"The file?" prompted Vincent.

Yuffie opened the envelope and handed it to him. She watched Vincent's mesmerizing red eyes flick through the document. "What's it say?"

"Time and location of first contact," Vincent said, the lines around his eyes tightening. Yuffie peeked over his shoulder at the file, curious as to what got him looking so disagreeable, but didn't get to the bulk of the text when he spoke. "Have we been supplied with beach wear?" Not his happy voice. "Our mark will be here in five days for the summer with his wife. We are to initiate contact at the beach. They have scheduled beginning water-skiing lessons." Oh, that would do it. Sticking an immortal, tormented gunman's soul into swim shorts? A Bad Idea, if she ever heard one. "Yuffie?"

"That doesn't sound too bad. On the bright side, we don't have to wear those ugly suits!" Vincent peered at her over the rim of the file. She was no expert, but that probably translated into, "But I am fond of suits." Yuffie settled back on the balls of her feet in a placating motion. "You know how to water-ski?"

"Vaguely."

"I know how to water-ski! I even know a trick!" At Vincent's quizzical look, she explained, "I had lots of downtime in my last mission here. We can go tomorrow and I can teach you the basics! Don't worry; it's simple if you know how to air-board."

"I would rather not," he said heavily, though it was clear he did not have a choice.

"The beach outside looks like it's private. We can practice over there and when they show, we'll just head over to the other beach. Nothing like private lessons from the White Rose, right?" she attempted brightly.

Vincent sat down on the bed, forehead pressed against his hands. He seemed tired, as if the charade even thus far had worn him out.

"Was Reeve lying when he said you've done this before? It's not too late, Vince, we can get a replacement."

"No, he wasn't. I have."

"When?" insisted Yuffie dubiously.

"When I was a Turk."

"Oh."

"It's been a while."

"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, there's still the replacement option." Yuffie shuffled her feet awkwardly against the floor.

"No," he lifted his head and peered pensively out of the window, "Reeve was right. There is no one else who's qualified. I have to be here in case anything goes wrong."

"It's a just a recon," spouted Yuffie breezily. "What could possibly go wrong?" She jumped up and slapped him on the shoulder, the only natural gesture she felt she'd executed all day. "We'll make it, Vinnie! Now, I'm starved. I'm going to check the kitchen!" She tried to leap out the way she came, but grimaced and tugged at her pants. "Actually, I'm going to change first. I feel like I'm fifty." She walked into the closet and came out with a pair of pajama shorts and a Koma Industries t-shirt in hand. Yuffie usually changed in her bedroom, so her blazer was off and her blouse was unbuttoned before she noticed Vincent was still in the room. He was looking out the window, which was still open. "Oh, shit!" she blurted, causing him to turn and get a full view of her bra.

Vincent's red eyes went wide before his face clammed up and he wordlessly left the room. Yuffie's gaze tore from the open door to the open window. She ran to the window and drew the curtain across before running back across the room and slamming the door. She really should have asked Reeve about getting married to Tifa instead.

Vincent was on the balcony when Yuffie emerged, fully dressed, out of the bedroom. She went straight to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. It was stocked to the brim with snacks and beverages of all kinds. She snatched a bottle of chocolate milk from the top and began guzzling it as she raked the rest of the shelves for a suitable dinner. She pulled out sandwich fixings and set them on the island behind her. By the time Vincent had finished brooding—or whatever else you could've called it—four badly-made sandwiches were sitting triumphantly on the island, surrounded by the messy aftermath. "I made sandwiches!" chirped Yuffie. "Dig in!"

"Ah," said Vincent, taking one gingerly and studiously avoiding eye contact—or chest contact, rather, "thank you."

_To be continued._

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><p><strong>AN: **Chapters 1-3 have been revised as of 08/03/11 in an attempt to provide a smoother story and a more consistent narrator (i.e. Yuffie). Some things have been added, some things have been cut, but nothing major has been messed with. I hope the pieces have improved, even if only a little bit.

To **Anon**, thank you for the reviews, since I cannot thank you privately. They make me smile. As always, comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading.


	4. Introducing the Trespasser

**IV. Introducing the Trespasser**

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><p><em>Click.<em> Yuffie's brow furrowed, but she did not move. _Click. Click._ Her eyelids snapped open, pupils dilating like spots of oil over earth. Her breaths accelerated to match pace with her animated heartbeat. Darkness dominated the bedroom, only persuaded from the windows by a penetrating beam of moonlight. Yuffie noiselessly brought her prone body into an upright position, casting her wary eyes around the room. Nothing was disturbed, but years of ingrained suspicion compelled her to feet to find the floor. She emigrated from the room, keeping her tiny form pressed against the walls and shadows.

The hallway was different in the dead of night. It was narrower, swallowing her up like Nero's darkness had. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she emerged from the hallway and spotted Vincent's decumbent form against the outline of the couch. The rise and fall of his chest signaled undisturbed slumber. She straightened, feeling somewhat silly. She was acting paranoid. If Vincent's vampire senses weren't tingling, then they were fine. Yuffie froze on her heel. In the periphery, she saw it clearly: a shadow, but not just any shadow. A moving, breathing shadow framed against the glass side door by moonlight. Yuffie's heart thudded wildly against her ribs. She dropped low to the floor, inching closer into the kitchen where she could get a better view. She risked a glance back at the couch, but bit down on her lip to keep from calling him. Would he even respond to "Marc"? Where they being robbed? Yuki was _not_ suited for self-defense. What could she do without blowing her cover? Her thoughts flashed to the frying pan, but it was all the way across the kitchen, closer to the door than she was. Maybe if she got the element of surprise she could—

The door swung inward soundlessly. Yuffie felt her fingers clench by her side. Vinnie, please wake up, wake up, _wake—_

The shadow crouched low to the floor on spindly arms and legs, like her. He wasn't an amateur, then. She was in trouble. He swung his head in her direction without warning. Yuffie felt her blood go cold. He bolted forward, large hands coming down as if to assault her. Against all instincts, she shot up, scrambling back with her arms raised protectively over her head. Her hands slammed back against the refrigerator, pinned beneath a pair of hairy, hot hands. Yuffie grit her teeth, cursing her cover to hell and back. His head leaned forward in the dark, his fetid breath brushing against her cheeks. There was a thump behind him. Glancing over the shadow, she saw fluid form of Vincent roll off the couch. Her attacker followed her gaze. A mistake. She managed to wrench a hand free, dipping it into the elastic of her panties. Her fingers fumbled for the knife tucked there. Her assailant's attention returned to her. She almost had a grip on it! If only—Yuffie stilled. The lights flashed on, blinding her. Something wet trailed down her face, and her now-freed hand went to her cheek, coming away with something that resembled—she squinted, forcing herself to focus—saliva. Sick bastard had licked her!

"Yuffie, drop the knife." It was Vincent's voice. She brought her saliva-slickened hand up against her eyes. He was lowering his gun, his expression trained non-threateningly on the trespasser. Like hell she was dropping the knife. He said her name already; there was no point in keeping the helpless act up.

"Yes, Yuffie, drop the knife," came a familiar voice, full of merriment. Yuffie blinked repeatedly, dazedly. Mortified, she retracted her hand out of the band of her pajama shorts in a single jerky movement. It was like being caught with her pants down. Worse, because Vincent Valentine had basically just witnessed her taking her hand out of her freaking panties.

The trespasser made a gruff sound. A chuckle. The color rose high on her cheeks. "What the hell, Nanaki? Don't you know how to knock? I almost sliced open your throat!"

Nanaki circled her once, golden eye twinkling in amusement, before moving to Vincent's side. "Fine words coming from you, little thief."

Yuffie resisted the urge to sink to her knees in relief. She rested her forearms heavily against the kitchen counter. "What are you doing here?" she sighed shakily. "Your breath stinks, by the way. And why do you look," her face twisted as she gestured to the feline, "like that?"

Nanaki frowned and sat on his rump. "I assure you, I am not pleased with my current appearance, but it was a necessary transformation in order to be a part of this operation." Yuffie could tell. He looked clean and groomed, for one thing. He was black, for another. He resembled a panther, or some kind of fancy black dog. Yuffie's eyes flicked from Nanaki to Vincent, who stood barefoot, clad in forgettable black pajamas. If they seemed to match back then, they _definitely_ seemed to match now.

"Don't tell me. The Conlins own a pet."

Nanaki's hackles rose visibly at the term. "Unfortunately for me, yes."

"Why weren't you already here when we first got here?"

"I will not be a constant presence. I have taken this form in order to be an inconspicuous visitor every once in a while."

"You mean you're leaving again? Why are you here in first place?"

"Yuffie, Nanaki is our handler," Vincent interjected.

Yuffie stared at them both as if they had just announced their intentions to marry. "Right, and we have hot, passionate sex every Monday."

Nanaki made that same gruff sound again, his infuriating chuckle. "Vincent speaks the truth. I am your handler."

Yuffie wordlessly opened the refrigerator and stared directly at the bulb for ten seconds, letting the simultaneous feed of light and chill stimulate her. When she was finished, she turned around. Panther Nanaki still sat on his bum next to a pajama-clad Vincent. Okay, so she wasn't dreaming.

"I have brought your cellphones," Nanaki informed them, lifting his head to expose the silver chain that connected a black bag around his neck. Yuffie snapped out of her stiff stand-still and strode over, undoing the string that kept the bag shut. She reached in and pulled out two stylish silver phones. She tested the weight in her palm and nodded approvingly. They were light and wouldn't get in the way. She reached inside the bag again and pulled out a small envelope. Shaking it experimentally yielded a sliding that signaled more than one item. She tore the package open and a handful of shiny credit cards splattered all over her feet.

"Money!" Yuffie bent down and examined the gleaming, new credit cards, excitement bubbling from her every motion. "Nanaki, I love you!" She gave the feline a crushing hug, but at his fitful shifting, released him with doting pat on the head. "Any updates from the Beard-Man?" she asked briskly, nimbly collecting the cards from the floor and sticking them in the band of her shorts for temporary safe-keeping.

"Nothing more than what has been provided." Nanaki absently rubbed his side against her bare leg as he passed her to the living room. She followed him onto the couch and plopped down, crossing her legs and letting Nanaki's furry head rest against her thigh.

"Here," interrupted Vincent, holding out a folded pack of papers that she had clearly overlooked from the envelope. Frowning, she took it, her other hand petting Nanaki's sleek mane. It was an updated set of data from the companies that had been targeted by Lexing Corp in the past, profiling all the people involved in the negotiations. It didn't take long to notice who stood out: Byran Lexing, the head of Lexing Corp, and former proponent of the Shinra Electric Power Company, their mark. She was glad for the report, though the timing could have been better. Forcing down an ill-placed yawn, she returned the file to Vincent; he did not hesitate to take a closer look at the finer details. Yuffie figured she would get more out of it by reading it in the morning.

Plucking curiously Nanaki's ebony fur, she asked, "Did you dye it?"

Nanaki snorted his disdain at the very thought. "It was not my choice. I was forced to undergo a coloring treatment. It is temporary."

She leaned down and laughed. "You smell like dog shampoo!"

"Another unfortunate result of my transformation," growled Nanaki.

Yuffie affectionately buried her face in his fur and took a deep breath. She felt starved for friendly attention. Vincent was wonderful eye-candy, but he radiated an aura of strict no-touching. Nanaki smelled faintly of Cosmo Canyon beneath the synthetic shampoo. She detected another scent: slightly musky, like wild grass and tree bark. Gunpowder. Her eyes flared open. Vincent raised an eyebrow from where he sat on the opposite side of the room. "We're sitting on your bed, aren't we?" muttered Yuffie.

Nanaki raised his head at the question. "You sleep here?"

Vincent nodded, but did not seem otherwise affected by the inquiry.

"That's right. I was going to ask you for a favor when you got here," murmured Yuffie into Nanaki's ear, hoping it escaped Vincent's notice. He noticed, alright, but he wasn't within earshot.

Nanaki hummed, his throat vibrating slightly against her leg. "Go on."

"You think you could get him an air mattress or something?"

"Why not convince him to sleep in the bed?"

"I've tried," Yuffie said, on the verge of whining. "I've tried everything, but he won't listen. He treats me a like a disease." Last night—closer to several hours ago, now that she thought about it—Vincent had offered to sleep on the couch, which was just his way of saying he didn't want to sleep with her. Um. Sleep in the same bed with her, not _sleep with her_. She had tried to change his mind, but he was immovable on the subject. Who _didn't_ want to sleep with the White Rose of Wutai? It wasn't like she even took up a lot of space or drooled all that much. It was kind of insulting, really. Vincent was such a stubborn prude. Nanaki threw back his head and barked his laughter. "Shut up!" hissed Yuffie, eyeing Vincent in a self-conscious panic. She honestly didn't know why she was trying to be clandestine about it. It _his_ problem, not hers. It was his loss, not hers. But she couldn't help feeling guilty when she saw him stuffed on a couch that barely held up his tall, lean frame, all whilst she slept on that huge, comfy bed.

"This matter sounds easily resolvable, Yuffie. How is this any different than sharing a tent with him? Do you not recall our travels together? He will see reason."

"It's different. Trust me." Nanaki grunted noncommittally. "Promise me," pleaded Yuffie quietly, "pretty please, Nanaki? I'll be your best friend—please? Vinnie deserves better than a couch, don't you think?"

Nanaki's entertained expression did not fade, but he appeared to acquiesce. "I will see what I can do."

"Ooo, really?" She threw her arms around Nanaki. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"I will never understand humans."

"You must be hungry, huh?" spouted Yuffie beyond acceptable audio range, darting a quick glance at Vincent who had long lost interest in her murmurings. "Let's see what we can fix up for you!"

Nanaki clambered off the couch and trotted to the kitchen expectantly. Yuffie opened up the refrigerator door and began the normal routine of making a sandwich. "Is that all you can make?" asked Nanaki before she could slap bread on a dish.

"What? My sandwiches are to die for!" Yuffie drew herself up proudly. "Isn't that right, Vince?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. Before they could make the same mistake again, he averted his eyes. "They are," a pause, "decent."

Was he making fun of her? Was Vincent No-Cook Valentine trying to imply something? Yuffie glared at him. "I haven't seen you give it a go," she muttered under her breath as she put away everything but the ham. She tipped the pack of ham onto the plate and stuck it out at the ungrateful creature. "Here, just eat this."

Nanaki eyed it disparagingly. "Perhaps, I should order a housekeeper for you as well." Yuffie bristled. Why wasn't anyone appreciating her sandwiches? "You will soon be too steeped in your work to waste time cooking and cleaning up after yourself," he added.

"Really?" Yuffie replied skeptically, pondering over whether this was still about her culinary skills or not. The latter won out. "Well, okay, that sounds great! It won't complicate things, will it?"

"Not at all. I will arrange for the housekeeper to be here only when you and Vincent are absent. Although, I would advise against leaving things carelessly where one might find them."

"We'll stay diligent," Yuffie assured him. "Thanks, Nanaki!" Because, really, even Yuffie didn't want to be stuck eating sandwiches every night for the next few months.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Nanaki was gone. She wondered if it was all a dream until Vincent handed her the silver cellphone that she had seen the night before. "Where did he go?" she asked, scanning the penthouse for black fur.<p>

"Back." Wow, informative.

"How are we supposed to get a hold of him?"

"He is on speed dial. Number two."

"He is?" She flipped open the phone. Sure enough, there was a number already programmed in labeled "Dog Keeper." If Nanaki was number two, then who was number one? The WRO? Reeve? She pressed the appropriate buttons and pressed the phone to her ear. It rang once before she removed the device from her ear to look at the contact name: "My Man." Seconds later, Vincent's butt began vibrating. Brown eyes blinked wide at him. He pulled a matching phone out of his back pocket and flipped it open to a caller named "Honey." Her mouth dropped open into an "O."

_To be continued._

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><p><strong>AN:** How many of you guessed that it was Nanaki? I was always under the impression that Nanaki was particularly fond of Vincent and Yuffie. In case you do not already know, Chapters 1-3 have been revised as of 08/03/11 in an attempt to provide a smoother story and a more consistent narrator (i.e. Yuffie). Some things have been added, some things have been cut, but nothing major has been messed with. I hope the pieces have improved, even if only a little bit. I spent the time between updates to revise and also to brainstorm the rest of the story, thus the small lag. I apologize if it seems a little slow, but I promise we'll get there. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged.


	5. Introducing the Love Life

**V. Introducing the Love Life**

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><p>Teaching Vincent how to water-ski turned out to be a disaster. Not because Vincent couldn't grasp it. In fact, he mastered it at four times the speed that she had, and he hadn't toppled off his skis even once. She should have known better than to expect Vincent to make a fool of himself in any other arena than the social one. No, the entire ordeal was a disaster because Yuffie couldn't hold her breakfast down for more than two minutes before abandoning the steering wheel and heaving off the side of the boat. But Vincent, being Vincent, effortlessly managed to avoid the multicolored puke that she left in the boat's wake.<p>

After the lesson, Yuffie stumbled out of the boat and collapsed onto the beach, relishing the unparalleled integrity of dry, solid land. Her fingers clutched at heaps of golden sand; she weakly shook her head, eyes tightly shut. "Never ask me to drive a boat again."

"Will you be alright?"

Yuffie's eyelids flew part at the sheer proximity of his voice. She yelped, startled to find him peering at her from less than an arm's length away. He drew back, watchful of any further indications she was going to hurl again. She couldn't blame the guy. She'd once claimed to be miraculously fine, until the _Shera_ made a sudden left turn that sent her puking all over Vincent's pointy gold shoes. "I'm empty, I swear!" she said, hoping to assure him, and patted her stomach for emphasis. Judging from the way he was assessing the color in her cheeks, he didn't seem too convinced. "You've water-skied before, haven't you, Vinnie?" she stated, rather than asked.

"When I was," he paused, "younger." Before you were even born, was what Yuffie heard. Sometimes, she wondered if she would have even given someone like pre-coffin Vincent a second glance. She'd thought about it before—a lot, actually—what he used to be like before he got so sad.

"Were you any good at it?" she queried as she plucked up the closest water bottle.

A wry twist graced his lips. "I confess I was not particularly talented with anything other than firearms." He gestured vaguely to the gun he had brought out with him. Yuffie just hoped he wouldn't try carting it around so openly to the other beach. This one was private, so it was okay, but she'd hate to have to explain to passing children why her husband was a gun-toting maniac.

"Could've fooled me," announced Yuffie, twisting the surprisingly pliant cap on her bottle and bringing her lips to it. "You're a natural, Vince!" Vincent's eyes abruptly fixed themselves to the bottle. A crease appeared on his forehead, and his lips parted, as if to say something, but he seemed to think better of it and said nothing. "Are you thirsty?" she said, taking a brief drink and holding it out to him. "Want some?"

There was a short silence. Yuffie thought about retracting her offer. After all, he probably thought he'd catch cooties or something. They would've been awesome cooties, though. She couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't want what she had.

Finally, he said, "That was mine."

Yuffie swallowed the remnants of her water. Her eyes darted to the rim of the bottle. "Oh." Suddenly, it made sense. No wonder it had tasted so sweet.

* * *

><p>Yuffie was in the habit of constructing a list of extraneous details for every identity she had to assume. The assignment bios gave her an outline with which to draw inspiration about a cover's personality, but Yuffie being Yuffie liked to go above and beyond those simple lies. More than once, those superfluous details had saved her cover or her life. She had already decided that Yuki Conlin loved bears, was secretly frightened to death by the idea of vampires, and ate her oranges with whipped cream—a guilty pleasure. Yuffie smoothed out her list against the coffee table. She'd been reviewing—and essentially memorizing—it for the better part of the past few hours, adopting mannerisms like adjusting her glasses when she was upset or attempting (and failing miserably) to emulate Vincent's Grim Reaper stare when she was angry.<p>

At first, Vincent had thought she'd lost her wits; he hadn't said so vocally, but she knew _that_ look. After several rounds of listening to her one-sided conversations, he had promptly tuned out the sound of his supposed wife's voice, electing instead to read over financial reports of Lexing Corp's last few years in business. Yuffie paced around the living room, trying to control the natural bounce in her step. Yuki may have possessed a shrewd mind, but she walked with a soft step. After a painful few orbits around the stationary Vincent, Yuffie convinced herself that she had nailed the Boring-Yuki-Walk and practically launched herself towards the list, scanning it for the next detail. But that was it! She was done! Right? She flipped over the sheet, just to sure and caught sight of the empty "Marriage Details" column. How could she have forgotten? She'd been putting that section off for some time now, as it required—what was that saying? Takes two to tango? Something like that. Yuffie knew they needed to get their stories straight, in case people went prying. And since they _always_ did, she knew they had to iron it out before they went for a sweep of the city. People asked all sorts of questions, and they had to be ready to answer. For example, what kind of wedding cake did she have? When did they first meet? First date, first kiss, first—well, anyway. This was going to get just a little uncomfortable. Not for her, of course. She was completely fine if they decided they were madly in love at first sight or something. But Vincent was probably going to be a little pickier with details. Her eyes slowly rose to peek over at him.

"Look, this is going to sound weird, but do we want kids?" Vincent froze from where he sat, as if his blood had run to ice. She probably could have worded it differently, now that she thought about it, so she tried again. "No, I mean, I don't want kids—I mean, unless you do. In that case, I guess I would be okay with it, but don't expect me to be popping out any more than one, _maybe two_ if we're the frisky type. Because childbirth—I don't care what anyone says—"

"I do not want children," Vincent mustered quietly, straightening as if to ready himself for escape.

"Oh, really? Oh, phew!" Relieved, she wiped a hand across her brow. "Good. Great, actually! Glad we can see eye to eye there. So, what do you think? Did you flirt with me first, or did I flirt with you first? Or are we going to go the _Pride and Prejudice_ route and say we mutually hated each other? In that case, I think you fell in love with me first—"

"_What_ are we talking about?" He spoke quietly, as though the entire Planet would shatter if he inquired at a volume any higher.

"Huh?" Yuffie stopped scribbling what appeared to be doodles onto her list. "Oh, us."

"'Us,'" echoed Vincent hollowly.

"Yes, as in the Conlins: the rich, married couple."

"Of course," said Vincent with a note of relief.

"What did you think I was talking about?" Vincent did not deign to answer that. "Anyway, we have to get the details straight. I think we should meet at Icicle Inn. I was snowboarding, doing all these sick tricks, when you fell off yours and I bonked you on the head a little on my way down. I stopped to apologize and—that was it—you were head over heels." Yuffie grinned, pleased with her present tale. "What do you think?"

"Yuffie, I do believe I am the better snowboarder," was all Vincent contributed.

"Are you willing to _bet_ on that? Because I got some pretty good evidence that I—"

"Yuffie, you are mistaken."

And that was the beginning a long morning turned afternoon spent debating their love life.

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><p>Holding Vincent's hand was like trying to grope someone. Squeeze too hard and you'd probably get a slap to the face or a knee to the groin, or since it was Vincent Valentine, a bullet straight through the brain. But as long as you're not too obvious about it, you could probably get away with it. Yuffie was not condoning groping, though. She was being metaphorical. But, yes, she was metaphorically groping Vincent right now. Although he had initially reacted with slight discomfort, he was not averse to her touch, at least not in public. She tried not to be awkward about it, but the fact that she was holding his dominant <em>shooting<em> hand and that there was such an obvious height difference between them made it look about as obvious as Tifa's bra size, which was pretty damn obvious. At least to her. She supposed other people could possibly find it cute that a she-dwarf and a titan were holding hands during a walk through town, but honestly, she would've preferred someone closer to her height. Although the thought of holding hands with Cloud weirded her out more than the thought of sticking her tongue down Vincent's throat. _Wait_ a second. Did she just—? Had she—? Well, if it came down to it, she wasn't going to lie. It was actually kind of an appealing idea. Dangerous as hell, though. Maybe.

Yuffie spotted an elderly lady flagging them down from her shave ice stall. "Welcome, dears! You must be new to town!"

Yuffie stiffened, her fingers reflexively tightening around Vincent's. She nudged herself a little closer against his side as they approached the stall. "What makes you say that?" Yuffie replied with a false brightness that she knew from experience would not be detected by anyone other than her closest friends.

"Because my shave ice is the best in town," chuckled the cheerful woman, "and you haven't yet tried it. Am I right?"

"As a matter of fact, we just arrived last night," Vincent intoned, his expression oddly non-terrifying. "My wife and I are on vacation." Yuffie raised her eyes to him at the term, blinking at the trace of residual affection in his voice. It was soft, gentle, and made her wonder what it would take to make him to say it without the deceit.

"Oh," her eyes crinkled pleasantly, reminding Yuffie of her late maternal grandmother, "newlyweds?"

"Four years in three months." Yuffie had to remind herself to nod along with Vincent's answer.

"Well, you two make a lovely couple," she chortled, pulling out a paper sleeve and beginning to fill it with crystalline ice.

"Thank you," sputtered Yuffie, horrified to find her cheeks growing hot, as if she were really Yuki Conlin and not the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi.

"Have one on the house. You two don't be shy and come back now, you hear?" Without allowing either of them to protest, she unceremoniously dropped the blue and red shave ice into Yuffie's able hands. "Oh, hello, Janice, back again for the summer?"

Yuffie turned her gaze to newcomer who appeared next to them. "Of course," responded the blonde woman, her voice brisk but pleasant. She smiled as she tugged at her partner's arm. "We come here every summer."

"Best shave ice in town, after all," remarked the man attached to the aforementioned arm.

Yuffie felt Vincent's hand involuntarily squeeze against hers. And it wasn't because he was suddenly feeling territorial. It was because she was holding his shooting hand.

And their mark had just arrived, four days early.

_To be continued._

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><p><strong>AN: **I apologize for the wait. Even though I've planned it out from beginning to end, I didn't anticipate how difficult it would be to write this particular chapter. I've also been been ambivalent about posting this installment because of all the wonderful reviews I've been receiving. It's a bit daunting to keep up with expectations, and I really hope that I don't disappoint you along the way. That said, comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading.


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